


oh, just grant me one more day

by Magepaw



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bittersweet Ending, Bugs & Insects, Gift Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Musicians, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Road Trips, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magepaw/pseuds/Magepaw
Summary: Sariel did not know what it would entail when a handsome stranger found him playing guitar on the street corner one rainy afternoon, and invited him to join his rock band for their summer tour.





	oh, just grant me one more day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlumTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/gifts).



> _"Sad boy and Belial actually seem to have a genuinely friendly relationship and I already fear this isn't going to end well because Belial is the biggest bitch in the universe" – PlumTea_
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> title from [west coast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjHxW9xvJWM), concept from [this](https://i.imgur.com/d8KaWMW.jpg) ( ~~and[this](https://i.imgur.com/KgNCwtg.png)~~), thank you for ruining me granblue ~~sally burned through my entire spark fund and didn't even come home damn it~~ anyway this is a wistful bittersweet thing but hey maybe it ends well you never know

 

Sariel did not know what it would entail when a handsome stranger found him playing guitar on the street corner one rainy afternoon, and invited him to join his rock band for their summer tour. He claimed he needed a guitarist that could keep up with their songwriter's demands. He offered money first, though Sariel desired little, and fame second, though Sariel could play his music with or without an audience, so the idea of performing concerts held no particular appeal. But Belial was charming and gracious, and Sariel supposed he had no real reason to reject the offer, either. The gig came with a place to sleep and meals to eat, which was as good a reason as any to accept. It wasn't like there was anyone who would miss him when he was gone, unless he counted the ants that swarmed between the cracks in the sidewalk on his corner. He doubted they would notice.

 

What Sariel ended up being fond of was the tour bus itself. He could barely fit his long legs in the seats, and had to draw his knees up to his chest to be comfortable, but he liked watching the scenery go by the window. Sariel never had the money for travel before, and it was a great fascination to him to see how the horizon changed depending on where he was, and how the trees grew differently depending on the climate, and how the unique shapes of the skylines came into view as each new city approached. As Avatar drove on into the night, he could watch the stars from where he lay on his foldout bed, and the streaks of neon headlights as other cars zoomed past, until Beelzebub snapped at him to pull the curtains shut and let them sleep.

 

It took adjusting to be around these people all the time, to learn the sounds of their voices and the melodies in their hearts. Lucilius was solitary and short tempered, and used his downtime to catch up on reading when he wasn't feverishly writing melodies on his keyboard. Avatar was a complete mystery who never spoke. Belial and Beelzebub were both the sort to get into trouble, and often did. But they were just as likely to fist fight each other in the parking lot as they were to amicably play hours of chess on the road. And Belial was always shopping for new outfits, or visiting tourist landmarks, or drinking at local bars, or getting piercings in new places to show off. He was a true performer, a thrill seeker who quickly grew bored if he wasn't entertained. Sariel learned to enjoy them all, and the strange camaraderie of being bandmates. And when night fell, and the bright lights of the stage were upon him, and the first notes of his new electric guitar reverberated into the air, the screams of the crowd faded to nothing. Sariel could lose himself in the music he so adored.

 

Sariel liked being here better than being on the street. Summer in the city did not suit him. His pale skin and sensitive eyes were not built for heat or direct sunlight. Sariel opted to remain inside the air conditioned safety of the tour bus as much as he could, in order to avoid sunburn. He shared cup noodles and awkward silences inside with Lucilius, who also despised summer, and would rather be composing than performing. But as the season stretched onward, Sariel grew most attached to Belial in particular. Belial's voice was so rich and grand on stage – he commanded attention when he sang, flourished under it, turned his entire body into his instrument. Belial always brought him stories and took the time to talk to him, too. Sariel could listen to the smooth timbre of his voice for hours and never tire of it. It was his honeyed words that Sariel had followed in the first place.

 

And Belial was observant, sometimes startlingly so. He guessed the sort of things Sariel would like even when he did not know himself. A surprise bread pudding and a cup of bubble tea for lunch. Bottles of nail polish, glossy and black like a beetle's carapace. New picks and strings for his shabby old guitar, so he could still play acoustic on the road. A pair of earrings made out of dangling crow feathers, soft and iridescent. Lucilius called the trinkets a waste of space and money, but Sariel liked to look at them, especially the souvenir keychains of places they had been. It was satisfying in a way he had not known it would be, having pieces of places that were his to keep.

 

Belial had an admirably curious, outgoing, and generous disposition, compared to Sariel, at least. Sariel was aware enough of his own dull nature, morose and withdrawn, and that he was uninteresting to other people once they got past the novelty of his unusual height and hair. He expressed himself better through music than with his words, which came to him slowly and with great effort, as though drawn up from the depths of a deep well within him. It was hard to him to hold a conversation, and disappointing when he made the attempt, so most people quickly gave up on him. He could not fathom why someone as charismatic as Belial had not given up by now. Sariel concluded that Belial was nice to him simply because he liked his music.

 

This came as a relief. He did not know how to be a friend, because he had never had a friend before. Sariel was simply glad to be useful to someone. He would play for as long as Belial wanted to sing with him.

 

* * *

 

 

Sariel did not know what it meant when something inside of him shifted, but he noticed the change, like ripples of a shape below disturbing the calm surface of a lake. Belial returned early from exploring a museum of science carrying a large box that he plunked proudly in Sariel's lap. Sariel gazed unblinkingly at the photo of smiling children on the cover, then ran his long fingers reverently over the box.

 

"An ant farm," he murmured, eyes round as saucers as he opened it. In both hands he cradled the small plastic transport tube containing the live ants, and watched the writhing mess of insects crawling over themselves in their search for food. He couldn't stop staring. They were so tiny, but so vibrant, with their shiny exoskeletons and questing mandibles and their antennae waving all around.

 

Something strange and light and new fluttered like buzzing wings in his chest. He had told Belial stories about watching the sidewalk ants toil for hours from his street corner. He would share the crumbs from his food with them, to give them something to do. Belial had listened. Belial remembered he liked them.

 

"You add the ants here, then put the top on so they can explore. This model lights up," Belial pointed out with a grin, "so you can watch them at night, too."

 

"What is the blue gel?"

 

"Amino acids and sugar, with some seaweed extracts to solidify it. It's supposed to be a complete nutrient source, so you don't have to worry about feeding them while they tunnel around in it."

 

Sariel paused, brow furrowed. "Can I… Can I still feed them if I want to?"

 

Belial laughed, strangely delighted by his question. "Of course, if you want," he shrugged. "You can do whatever you want to them. They're your ants."

 

Sariel sat up a little straighter, pleased. His ants.

 

The ants in the small tube ran in wild circles, eager to be released into the habitat. Somewhere in the back of the bus, Beelzebub could be heard cursing at Belial for bringing vermin into their shared space instead of buying him something useful like a phone. Belial waggled his pierced tongue and flashed his middle finger in Beelzebub's direction. Lucilius pulled his headphones out at the commotion and leveled a frosty glare down his nose at Sariel.

 

"If one single ant escapes that enclosure," Lucilius warned in a low, dangerously soft tone, "I will kill them all in front of you."

 

Sariel nodded in docile understanding. He would be diligent in caring for his ants. They were his.

 

Belial reached over and plucked one of the keychains from Sariel's box – a little metal Eiffel Tower – and stuck it into the blue gel landscape before Sariel screwed the top on. "Now they can travel, too," Belial said with a grin.

 

Every night, Sariel watched the dutiful ants build their tunnels through the gel for hours. It brought him a mindless sort of calm, freeing him from confusing new feelings he did not have a name for. How satisfying it was to watch them scurry along their trails, always with a destination in mind. Ants always knew what they wanted, and where they wanted to be. They did not hesitate or fumble. They did not drift from place to place with nothing to hold them there. Even when he stood on stage, watching the sea of faces in the audience, his clever fingers dancing up and down the frets of his guitar, his mind wandered back to the simple lives of ants. Ants did not yearn for things they could not have.

 

* * *

 

 

When the heat wave finally broke, and the nights grew cooler in anticipation of autumn, it did not bring the relief Sariel wanted it to. Soon, the tour would end and the bus would leave him where he started, standing on a street corner with a guitar strapped to his back and nowhere to go. But Sariel was a different shape than he had been before Belial came along. He supposed at least he had his ants and a box of memories now, and enough money for rent, so he would be better off than he was at the start. The knowledge that landscape within him had shifted in some way did little to quell the stirring of uneasiness.

 

Through the veil of his lowered eyelashes, Sariel watched Belial cheerfully deliver an overcaffeinated latte and a shopping bag full of books to Lucilius. Lucilius snatched the coffee too quickly, nearly spilling it, and Belial laughed, open fondness coloring his cheeks. Sariel wondered what it felt like to know where and what he was supposed to be, the way ants did. He wished his mind had been built more like an ant's, simple and free from the heavy burden of awareness.

 

Belial was kind. Belial doted on everyone in the band, not just Sariel. Belial worked hard to keep them all happy so they would keep performing with him. Maybe that was all it would ever be. Sariel understood this, and accepted it, and yet. And yet.

 

Sariel pressed his hands to his sternum, a slight frown tugging at his lips. The fluttering wings in his chest had begun to ache.

 

"Hey, Sally," Belial called, catching his doleful stare with a concerned look. "Everything alright?"

 

Sariel stared down at his long fingers. The black polish on his nails was clumsy and uneven. He was still learning how to apply it and let it dry without it smudging all over his skin. He had wanted to ask Belial to help him, but he also wanted to surprise Belial by doing it himself. Belial would be kind enough to compliment him, even if it wasn't true.

 

Sariel blinked slowly, thoughts sluggishly catching up to his tongue. "I realized… I'm going to miss you soon," he said solemnly. "I've never had someone to miss before."

 

It startled a laugh out of Belial. He rose and slung a friendly arm around Sariel's bony shoulders, pulling him to stoop over so they faced each other, foreheads bumping. Belial's bare skin was warm, so warm, and up close his cologne smelled like something both sweet and spicy, like a black milk tea, like cloves and roses and sandalwood. Sariel froze in place, his eyes wide and unblinking as his mind flooded with white static.

 

"Hey, we still have tonight's show," Belial promised. "No need to say goodbye just yet. And we'll get the band back together again! It won't be forever."

 

With great effort, Sariel found his voice again, managing a halting whisper. "Not forever… Will you want me again…? Am I invited?"

 

"Of course, of course," Belial assured him, smiling even wider. Sariel found himself unable to look away from the crimson of Belial's eyes, the same irresistible magnetism that had drawn him in when they'd first met. His teeth gleamed sharp in the low lighting of the bus. "You enjoy making music with us, right? It suits you. You'll always have a place with us."

 

Sariel found it hard to concentrate with the weight of Belial's arm resting so casually against him, Belial's handsome face pressed so close to his own. The fluttering in his chest had gone light and giddy again, butterflies swarming in his lungs and stealing his breath away. Touching him… He blinked several times, trying to straighten out the sudden tangle his thoughts had jumbled into.

 

"I want… to stay with you. After. Is that… okay?" Sariel asked, frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

"You just have to wait until the next tour dates are settled. I'll miss you too, Sally," Belial said in low voice.

 

Sariel's blank expression did not change, but he felt the hopeful fluttering inside him crumple and go still. He could find no words to respond, so he stood, mute and motionless.

 

Belial's hand was in his hair, ruffling it affectionately. It lasted only a moment, suspended in time, but he would feel a ghost of that touch, the warmth of phantom fingers, for a long time after. "Enjoy your time off. Take care of yourself," Belial added, kindly, and then left him to pick up his pieces.

 

Sariel played his heart out that night. He had never poured so much of himself into his music, and it was freeing, exhilarating, terrifying. He wanted to keep playing. He wanted to be heard. He could not remember ever wanting this before. It mattered, now. He found something he wanted. And when the lights went off for the final time, and the crowd applauded the end of their performance, and the stage was swallowed in darkness, Sariel felt wetness running down his cheeks.

 

It dripped onto his open palms, though he made no effort to wipe his eyes. He was glad for it. There was someone in this world who would miss him. And they would see each other again. He would wait for that. This journey had been worth it, if only for that promise.

 

_To him, Belial would always be–_

 

Sariel stood in the gloom with his arms dangling limp at his sides, silently weeping at the end of summer, and let the ache of wanting in his chest finally release into something light and free.


End file.
